Chapter 63: Busier and Busier

Chinese class with Ms. Davis was a little sparse. Alex double-checked the room. He was, in fact, the only student. "Er, am I the only one learning Chinese?"

Ms. Davis smiled kindly. "At this moment, yes. We might be joined by others later on."

Alex blinked. "Why?"

Ms. Davis smiled. "The older students have other concerns and the younger students hadn't begun learning Chinese beforehand. The whole point of the school is to bring everyone up to speed and work with the level you started with."

Alex let out a sigh. Ms. Davis smiled. Alex assumed that it was supposed to be reassuring. He opened the textbook for a grueling hour of Chinese. Earth Science was awkward. Mr. Smith seemed nice enough. "Name the three kinds of rock."

Alex blinked. "Igneous, metamorphic, and sedimentary."

Mr. Smith blinked. "Did you fail the test deliberately?"

Alex gaped. "No."

Mr. Smith paused. "Did you really memorize the whole textbook?"

Alex sighed. "Yes."

Mr. Smith cracked the book open to a random page. "Why is the sky blue?"

Alex thought back to his memory of the book. "The light is scattered by molecules in the atmosphere."

Mr. Smith snapped the book shut. "I believe you should retake the assessment this weekend. You have my class hour free this week, just in case you want to study."

He was shocked. Ian would have probably have made him start something else right away. Alex noticed Madison and Eric in class, along with Aiden and Archer. Alex cracked open the textbook for a quick reread. The other students were staring. "And with that, we'll have a pop-quiz for the rest of you."

Alex adjusted his textbook so that the kids wouldn't see his smirk as their groans went throughout the class. Some things never changed, no matter what school you went to. Advanced Engineering aka defusing bombs was with the older children. In this class, Mr. Smith was far less jovial. Alex presumed that it was because the subject matter was far more serious to get wrong. "Today, we'll be going over the more common Mossad bombs. Most of you should know how to assemble one by now. We'll start with a little thought exercise."

Alex had a headache after that class, but at least it was a class that was not based on memorization. Abigail and Kenneth seemed to be more social today. Crystal, John, Kelly, Kristen were about the same. Alex presumed the younger students didn't take the class. "Hope you don't feel too bad. Smith is rough on everyone for the first week."

It was Kenneth. "It's fine. I've had grumpier teachers, y'know."

Abigail stepped in. "Really? What did they-"

Abigail was cut off by Mr. Smith. "That's quite enough, Abigail. Quit being an incessant gossip and get to your next class."

Abigail flushed and peeled off. Mr. Smith looked at him a bit kindlier than he had in the bomb class. "You don't need to answer anybody's questions if they make you feel uncomfortable, Xander."

Alex flushed. "It's fine."

Mr. Smith smirked and a bit of Scottish accent slipped through. "I bet you'd say that bleedin' out on the floor. Run off to class, now."

Alex was suddenly reminded of Gordon Ross as he walked to cooking class. The cooking class was kind of fun. Ms. Miller seemed like kind of a pushover, but Alex was not about to test that theory. He wanted to be a model student here. "Welcome, class."

Alex immediately noticed that he was the only boy in the class. It was interesting. You would think that here, of all places, would be free of gender roles and stereotypes. The class seemed to be beginning. Alex noticed that all of the girls, from Abigail to Madison, were in the class. Alex was paired with Madison and Abigail. The other girls, Crystal, Kelly, and Kristen, were paired together. "Now that you all have your groups, we're going to go over safety in the kitchen."

Alex prepared himself for a boring lecture on hot stoves and kitchen knife sharpness. At least the next class promised to be interesting.

Dinner that night was promising to be interesting. And by interesting, Alex meant it was about to get more political than a SCORPIA board meeting. Card sat down at the table. That was surprising. He glanced at Madison. "He does that every time we get a new student for the first week or so."

Alex nodded to himself. Abigail, Madison, and Eric seemed to have flocked to him. Kenneth seemed torn between being friends and not being friends. Alex wondered why. Ms. Davis was giving the two youngest students dagger-eyes. Eric broke first. "Erm, I'm sorry for asking rude questions."

Madison piped up. "Me too."

It was far from the most elaborate apology he'd ever received, but it was probably one of the sincerer ones. Xander smiled softly. "That's alright."

Lance did not look best pleased with his easy acceptance, but Alex did not give a singular fuck. After the two younger students were shooed away from him in favor of Card and Lance, Abigail looked at him appraisingly. "That was nice of you."

Alex shrugged. "It's not a big deal to me. I'm used to being gawked at because of what I can do."

Abigail gave him another appraising look but left it as the adult men sat down. Card stared at Alex. Alex had learned to never make the first move. And the value of patience. As the silence went near the five-minute mark, the news blared in the background. "...Rider is currently the youngest person on Interpol's most-wanted list in the entire history of Interpol. He is considered dangerous, despite his age, and wanted for questioning about several crimes, including the Louvre robbery and-"

Card blinked. "So, Xander, how are you settling in?"

Xander smirked. "It's nicer than I thought it was going to be."

Card sighed. "What did you think we were going to do? Stick you in a cell and waterboard you? We save that for the terrorists."

Alex arched a brow. "I would prefer not to talk about any affiliations I may or may not have made here."

Card shrugged. "Your choice."

Alex felt his eye twitch. Why was he being so goddamned trusting? "I'd like to send and receive mail under several aliases."

Card pinched his nose. "Talk with your mentor. We don't do mail here, but if Lance is in a good mood, he might let you get a post box in the nearby town."

Lance had just bitten into a large roll. "Sure."

Card drew in a long breath. Ms. Davis sent him what Alex could only describe as an "I told you so" look. Ms. Davis waited until Lance had taken another bite before opening with her line. "I think we should have Lance supervised in the evening mentorship sessions."

Lance choked and swallowed. "Hell no, you hag bi-"

Card covered the man's mouth. "I assure you, I trust Lance to be the height of proprietary behavior."

Everyone except Alex gave the man a look that questioned his sanity. Alex choked back a laugh as Lance very clearly bit Card's hand. This drew more skeptical looks from the adults. "Now, I think we'll have a compromise since you all seem hell-bent on hating Lance. We'll have Belinda and Micheal supervise the lessons. How about that?"

The question was stated as an order. The adults were all left fuming, minus Card, and Lance. Lance had the grace to not look smug.

Home Economics was, once again, taught by Ms. Miller. Alex wondered if he should be surprised or not. The class was pretty uneventful. Alex noticed that every single student was in attendance. They went over what they were going to do in the class, which amounted to a motley mix of budgeting, basic dishes, nutrition, sewing, how to set a table, how to do laundry with weird textiles (what the hell was baize?!), child development, organization, and basic care for sick people. And then got a sheet of checks that Miller said they'd be using in the next class. Alex had a feeling he knew which activity it was but had no wish to spoil it for the class. Apparently, not losing their "checkbook" was part of the exercise. Alex stuck it in the folder he'd made for the class before he went to the next class. Advanced Botany aka Antidotes only had himself, Abigail, and Kenneth. Alex watched a staredown between the two before Abigail slinked off to the desk next to him and Kenneth took the seat to share the desk. The class was taught by Ms. Johnson, a soft-spoken woman. "Welcome to antidotes. Hopefully, you'll never need it. First question, does the antidote need to be the same amount as the poison?"

Alex waited for Kenneth and Abigail to raise their hand for a good thirty seconds. "I object to the premise of the question. For once, we have no idea about the chemical reactions involved, whether "amount" refers to limiting reagents, or even of what your definition of the amount is."

Ms. Johnson looked amused. "You could have just answered no."

Alex gave her a look. "I could, but I suspect your question was fundamentally flawed for a reason."

Ms. Johnson inclined her head, "Indeed. The first lesson of the class. Always question the premise of anything poison-related. Is my guess right? Will the antidote do more harm than good? Will my antidote potentially kill?"

Ms. Johnson then went on with the rest of the lesson. The first stage would be how to identify if and when you were poisoned. The second half would be the tricky part. Actual antidotes and their creation and design were a lot harder than poison. Alex suspected he wasn't the only one with a headache at the end of the lesson. Jet had only gone over poisons and their symptoms and onset rates. There had been nothing about antidotes in her curriculum. The history class was taught by Card. Alex noticed that it was only the four eldest students and him. It was a class on the rise and fall of intelligence agencies and the devices they liked to use. Alex knew it would probably start around the era of the world wars. Card didn't waste any time as he launched into the early theory of military intelligence. Alex was surprised when he started with Sun Tzu and Ancient Egypt. It was a good thing he'd brought a notebook. Even with perfect audio recall, he'd still rather have some of this written down. Alex felt like his brain was about to explode by the time Card let them leave. To his surprise, their mentors greeted them at the door, including Lance. Alex was surprised when the man offered his hand but grudgingly took it. He wondered what mentorship hour would hold.

Lance, despite the heated glares almost all the adults were giving him, looked excited. "So, how were your classes? I heard Allen wants to switch you to more ballet and Smith wants you to test out of Earth Science this weekend. I told the shits you wouldn't need the class, but they insisted."

The heated glares were now directed at Card. Alex resisted the urge to cackle. "Uh, Lance, maybe don't call your coworkers "the shits" if you want them to like you. Just a tip."

Lance grinned. "Maybe I don't care, so I act how I want."

Xander rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Xany, we're going to ditch the losers-"

Alex raised a brow. "They aren't losers."

Lance continued. "And do something fun."

Alex was quickly escorted to their room set. The first thing he noticed was the packages in the living room. "What's all this?"

Lance grinned. "Room decorations. I also realized I have no fucking clue when your birthday is, so I just got you a present anyway. I made Micheal and Beds get you one, too."

Alex stared at the man. "Thanks."

Lance continued. "So, tonight, we're mostly decorating your room. I should probably warn you. I...er...thought generic forest painting seemed a little boring so I got you James Bond and pretty fire pictures instead."

Alex grinned. "That's great! How did you know?!"

Lance grinned. "A little birdie told me."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Was the birdie blond and our current housemate?"

Lance shrugged. "Maybe. Now, do you want to decorate or not?"

Alex spent a good part of an hour sticking posters on a wall. They had no sooner finished than Lance bounced to the living room. "Time for presents! Open mine first!"

Alex wondered if his mentor was secretly his age. It would explain a lot. Alex ripped open the first one. "Daggers?"

Lance grinned. They were in leather holsters. "You attached them to your wrist and ankle. I remembered you were packing heat in Afghanistan and thought you might be more comfortable if you had weapons of some sort. I'll teach you how to use 'em starting tomorrow."

Alex blinked. "Thank you."

Micheal looked excited. "Do mine next!"

Alex opened it. There was a key, a note with an address, and a lighter. "Are you sure the lighter is a good idea?"

Micheal grinned. "No, but try not to burn down the whole school."

Alex paused. "What's the key to?"

Micheal grinned. "A post office box. I promise not to open too much of your mail."

Alex rolled his eyes, knowing the man was joking. Belinda looked bemused at the scene. "Don't forget mine."

Alex opened it. It was a book about brainwashing, undoing brainwashing, and how to turn spies. "Uh, thanks. I think?"

Belinda looked amused. "Our sessions will be on Saturday. The first half will be your therapy. The second half will be a discussion of these topics."

Alex looked at her. "Uh, where?"

Belinda smirked. "The nearby town has an arts and crafts center. We'll be doing projects and talking."

Alex felt relieved. Sitting and just talking was not his forte. He had brought Fenrir to all of their little sessions for a reason. Alex glanced at the clock. "I should probably start getting ready for bed about now."

He'd have to send a few people some messages. A certain bank in Switzerland had messages to forward to him, Sarov would need an address, and, if the relatives seemed like they could behave, he might send them the address. Tom could probably also use a postcard or something.

Ian Rider was not pleased with the newest development. Patrick Beckett was here. In his bloody house. "Ian. Rider."

Ian refused to show the man an ounce of fear. "What do you want?"

Patrick's eyes flashed. "My grandson safe and your head on a platter. Sadly, I might not get either for some time."

Ian had not expected the man to lunge for him and was pinned. He was suddenly being choked. "Tell me, did you poison Alan Blunt?"

Ian wheezed. "No."

Patrick glared. "Did you have anything to do with it?"

Ian blinked as spots went across his vision. He hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes."

Patrick blinked. "Good. Now, do you have an idea how angry I am at you for letting Alex fall into the hands of a drug dealer and a CIA goon?"

Ian smirked. "I can imagine."

Patrick released him. Ian could feel the bruises forming. "Fortunately for us, Card has decided Alex will make a wonderful assassin and is training him in a facility for that purpose. It is also fortunate that Belinda has an in on Alex and has given me the basic gist of his plans for those two."

Patrick continued. "You should be proud, Ian, he's decided to save the children from their CIA enslavers."

Ian groaned. Patrick was mocking him. "Oh, shut up, you old fart and listen here-"

Ian was cut off by a punch to the face that landed him on the ground. "No, you listen, you arrogant swine. I will never forgive you if anything happens to him, so I will take over from here."

Ian got up. "But-"

Patrick cut him off. "But nothing, you've failed to control him, you've failed to bond with him, and you've failed to raise him as your own."

Ian bit his lip. "It's not like that!"

Patrick stared at him. The steel-blue irises were unforgiving. "Yes, it is."

Patrick paced the length of his living room. "What do you plan to do exactly?"

Patrick frowned. "Watch and wait. I'm eager to see what he can do on his own with what education we've given him. I'll step in if he's in mortal danger, but I think both of us should back off for now. Clearly, the injections pushed him over the edge."

Ian sighed. "Do you think it was a mistake?"

Patrick glanced at him. "Your intentions were good, but your approach was poor, not unlike the rest of your missions."

Ian gaped at the man. "That's hardly fair."

Patrick sneered. "Life isn't fair, you insipid moron. In my one hundred and twenty years of life, I've lived through both World Wars, the Cold War, and the death of my daughter. I plan to live through all two hundred or so years of my life. Do you?"

Ian glared at him. "Yes."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Then start acting like it. And for god's sake, if Alex ever does return, get some family counseling."

Patrick moved to leave. Ian recovered enough to retort. "Hey Pot, this is Kettle. I'm calling to let you know we're both still black."

Ian received a cool glare in reply. "Take my advice or don't. But remember, Alex is only going to accept your subpar parenting as long as he doesn't know any better. And he's getting about the age where he'll start knowing better."

Patrick swept out of the room.

Yassen Gregorovich was minding his own business when the TV at Malagasto was turned on by an over-enthusiastic Gordon Ross in the teachers' lounge to the news channel. "Hey guys, look at this!"

It was a news story. About Alex Rider. Being on Interpol's most-wanted list. The youngest person ever. Wanted for questioning about mass murder, murder, terrorism, theft of national artifacts, and arson in several countries. Apparently, they had dug up some grainy footage of Alex setting a fire a few years ago. "He's a dead ringer for Hunter, isn't he?!"

Jet gave Ross a look that suggested he's killed a few too many brain cells in a drinking binge. "That is Hunter's son."

Gordon started cackling. "Wanted for stealing a gold shield from the Louvre?! The fucking frogs probably lost it in storage!"

Jet seemed to give up on words and smacked Gordon with a lunch tray just as Brendan Chase walked in. The looks of horror they both gave him were comical. "Wait. I've met that kid before."

Yassen felt his heart stutter. Gordon's eyes widened. "Blondie from that fancy restaurant I went to with Joe. He was a rude little fuck, too."

Yassen occasionally wanted to strangle Alex. "I liked him. Huh, who would have thought? Wish I'd gone with my gut feeling, ignored Joe, and kidnapped him. He seems fun to have around."

Chase trailed off and wandered out, not even bothering to comment on the lunch tray incident. "Carry on."

Yassen let out the breath he'd been holding. God damn it, Alex. Fucking fancy restaurants? He was going to beat that particular taste out of the kid. "Think he noticed it was John's kid?"

Gordon. Fucking. Ross. Was. Going. To. Die. Jet pursed her lips. "Perhaps."

Gordon was still cackling as Nile walked in. Tears were streaming down the man's face. "I love John's genes."

Nile raised an eyebrow and gingerly sat down next to Yassen. "Is he drunk again?"

Gordon gasped. "No, no. Look at this."

Yassen rolled his eyes as Gordon unmuted the news. Nile stared at Alex's picture on TV and looked at Yassen quizzically. He made a gesture that suggested texting while Gordon continued to cackle with glee. Yassen gave him a singular nod back and went back to his dinner. They would most certainly be texting Alex soon. Whether he would answer was another question.

The rest of the week was tiring, but not quite as bad as the family lesson days. For one, Alex was getting more sleep. There was a lot less pressure on him than on Ian and his lot. Sure, he was undercover, but he had to wait to do anything undercover-ish. Alex knew he should probably wait about a month before he tried anything. He packed up his stuff after a grueling six hours of ballet and self-defense. Thankfully, they had to change clothes and shower after. They had only physical classes on Saturday. "So, are you ready?"

Alex was a little surprised to find all three of the adults supposedly responsible for him in the living room. "Sure, just let me put my gym stuff in the hamper. It reeks."

Lance grinned. Alex was glad he was allowed to wear civvies on weekends. It cut down on change times. The adults must have noticed his skeptical look. "We're going to the nearest town to introduce you to your new mailbox and head shrinking art place."

Alex was tempted to grab some devices but refrained. Belinda might think he was getting paranoid. "Okay."

Lance grinned at his mildly skeptical look. "Oh, cheer up."

Xander arched a brow. "I can't imagine you in anything art related."

Lance snorted. "Nah, me and Micheal will be in the forge."

Alex frowned. "It must be some art center if it has an entire forge."

Lance shrugged. "I think Card funds it in secret. He's probably hoping it will keep us from going insane or getting drunk and doing stupid shit."

Alex got in the obnoxiously generic looking car. The adults followed. "Does it work?"

Lance laughed as he started the engine. "Hell, no."

The drive into town was surprisingly short. Alex noticed right away that most of the locals gave them a wide berth. It immediately triggered several mental alarms for him. Belinda led him towards a surprisingly clean building. The door banged open. "Welcome! I'm Enobia!"

Alex noticed she was blind. "Er, hi." Belinda looked at him. "I'm Xander."

The blonde woman greeted the woman who Alex assumed was the owner with a handshake. "Belinda."

The woman was practically bouncing. "I'm so glad to have visitors! There hasn't been a child here in years!"

Xander frowned. That was odd. Craft centers normally drew families. If they were adult-only, they'd draw older teens, surely? Enobia continued. "So, what do you two want to get started on today?"

Belinda frowned. "Perhaps some painting?"

Alex just stared wide-eyed. Ian had never let him take any art classes that weren't art history. He'd said that there were many more useful classes for him to take. It had all been languages and history and grammar. "Works for me."

Alex sighed as they picked up the paint. It was probably going to be a mess. "Now, Xander, I want you to paint whatever you want."

Alex glanced at the paint and then the page. "I'm not sure."

Belinda looked at him. "Try for something meaningful."

Alex saw the yellow paint and immediately thought of Fenrir's eyes. "Alright."

Three hours, headache, and a blobby mess later, Alex was done. Belinda looked at his "piece". "Incidentally, what was it supposed to be?"

Xander gave her a dry look. "My dog."

Belinda seemed to be trying to be diplomatic. "That explains the yellow eyes. No matter, we'll try something else next week."

Alex frowned. "You're not mad?"

Belinda snorted. "No, painting is more of a learned skill anyway. You did say this was the first time you'd ever even picked up a paintbrush, so a blobby mess was to be expected."

The woman began walking at a brisker pace. "So, what do Lance and Micheal have planned?"

They stepped into an elevator. "I expect we'll find out soon enough."

Alex was surprised to find the two of them constructing a model tank together. "I believe it is time to go."

Lance grinned. "Score."

He and Micheal put up their tools before walking out. Micheal began wandering towards the road. "Right, we'll visit the post office."

They stepped into the tiniest post office Alex had ever seen. The owner walked out. "Do you have anything to mail?"

Alex pulled out letters for Tom, Sarov, and Patrick. Marion had supplied their address when he'd asked for it before he left. "Actually, yes."

The man smiled. "Ah, your cousin explained how the post boxes work, right?"

Alex shrugged. "Yes, thank you."

The man looked at Micheal. "He's polite."

The man tallied up the total on Alex's letters. "That will be eight dollars and twenty-seven cents."

Alex moved to pull out his money and was stilled by a look from both Lance and Micheal. Belinda looked bemused. Lance whipped out the cash and paid. The owner looked puzzled but seemed to shrug it off. "Like I'd let you pay for letters to family."

Alex tried not to let his mouth drop open. "Thanks, Dad."

Lance ignored the faint sarcasm and all but dragged him from the shop.

"What now?"

Lance grinned. "Now, we have some fun. Technically, you're not allowed near the school firing ranges until you're fourteen, but Belinda says you've been taught. Also, this ain't the school. I was thinking about friendly competition."

Alex felt his competitive spirit immediately jump. "What do I get if I win?"

Lance grinned. "We're going to see a movie and the winner gets picking rights."

Micheal looked suspicious. "What happens to the loser?"

Lance grinned. "Hmm. I can't think of anything kid-friendly."

Belinda slinked in. "They have to answer three questions from the victor fully and honestly."

Alex gave her the stink eye. "Are you participating?"

Belinda snorted. "No, no. I wouldn't dream of interfering with your plans."

Alex cursed. He was good at shooting, but beating some of the best in the CIA was a little different. "Okay, I'm game."

Xander cursed the day that he'd been born with a competitive spirit. Micheal grinned. It was the slightly predatory grin Alex had previously associated with him burning buildings to the ground. They went to a shooting gallery. Seriously, what kind of town was this? Alex was starting to think it wasn't a town, but a shell that employed the occasional local. Would they build a town just for CIA agents and bribable locals, though? The shooting gallery had nobody in it except the proprietor. This was getting suspicious. Very suspicious. Nonetheless, Alex was going to do his best to win the competition so he wouldn't have to answer those damn questions. Lance sauntered over to the gun counter. "Which ones have you shot with before?"

Alex had shot with nearly all of them but wasn't going to say so. Alex picked one of the usual ones he liked from Smith & Wesson. It was a Kimber 1911 model. They were pretty decent. Much better than some of the guns he'd had the displeasure of firing. Lance was practically bouncing. "Good choice."

The owner silently set up the range, eyeing him as though he wanted to say something, but refraining. Lance grinned. "Ready?"

Alex put on his earmuffs and picked up the gun. It wasn't like his hearing could be damaged this way anymore, but he wasn't going to say anything. Alex took a deep breath and slid into his usual mode for instinctive firing. The targets were normal-shaped bullseyes. Alex let out the breath he'd been holding and fired. There were only him and the targets, now.

After about two hours of shooting, Lance called it quits. "Okay, counting time."

Alex quietly cursed. He had a sinking suspicion that he'd lost. It just wasn't clear how badly. Lance had ninety-five percent accuracy. Ninety. Fucking. Five. He was as bad as Yassen. Micheal had gotten a slightly healthier score of ninety-two. Alex checked his. Despite shaving off percentage points in his practice away from Yassen and Ian, he knew he was probably somewhere in the eighties. "Eighty-seven. That's higher than I was expecting."

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck. You two are unnatural."

Micheal looked amused. Lance snorted and ruffled his hair. "Aw, baby Xany, don't worry. Give it a few months and you'll be as unnatural as us."

Belinda seemed to be choking back a laugh at Alex's expression. "Well, it's not like you had to participate."

Alex huffed. "You all conspired against me and I know it."

None of them even tried to deny it. Micheal ruffled his hair some more. "Don't worry, Xander. Dinner is coming next."

Alex was still shocked when Lance took them all out for steak and paid for the whole thing. "One, I'm in charge. Two, what's the point of a mercenary side-gig if I don't use the money to buy things."

Lance had even let him get away with getting the wine pairings. Then again, Alex was ninety percent sure Lance had started drinking at like age ten. "Alright, I'm thinking of an action movie here. Mission Impossible sounds great."

Alex had no protests. Lance was grinning. "Popcorn! And snacks!"

Alex just looked at him. "It's not a movie without them!"

Micheal shrugged and offered to split the popcorn with him and Belinda. Alex noticed that even though Lance called it "toxic waste" he didn't waste any time coating his popcorn in insane amounts of liquid butter. They got out of the movie at about eight o'clock. "Now, it's not going to be like this every time, but this was kind of a special occasion. Besides, Beds says your guardian sucked at remembering your birthday, so think of it as a late birthday celebration."

Alex grinned. "It was nice anyway."

Lance shrugged. "We'll eat out every time, though. I hate cafeteria food."

Belinda gave him an amused look. "You could cook your own."

Lance gave her a look that suggested she'd lost the plot. "Nah, too much work. Besides, we're sampling American culture. Xany has been deprived, deprived, I tell you!"

Alex gave the man a look. "I was raised in Britain, not Sub-Saharan Africa."

Lance waved his hand. "Same difference."

Micheal looked wide-eyed as Alex choked back a laugh. The blatant xenophobia shouldn't be funny, but it kind of was. Belinda cut off any impending arguments on high European culture. "And back to the car we go."

Lance drove them all back. "I'm surprised we're allowed off-campus."

Lance glanced around. "Well, technically, there's no rule against it, but nobody does it. I just don't think a deprived child like you should be stuck in a school twenty-four seven."

Alex just looked at Belinda. "Is there any point in trying to convince him that anyone non-American can possibly have been middle-class?"

Belinda gave him a dry look. "Absolutely none. His international experiences were mostly post world war two."

Alex nodded. "Ah."

Lance got them back before sundown. They were immediately mobbed by Card and the teachers. "Where the hell were you?"

Lance grinned lazily. "Out. On an educational field trip."

Allen took one look at both of them. "Kid's drunk."

Card gave Lance a very unimpressed look. "Lance!"

Lance huffed. "We did educational stuff before that. Like shooting. And therapy."

Card was wearing a skeptical expression. "You took a twelve-year-old shooting?"

Lance shrugged. "It only said we couldn't use the campus range, not that we couldn't take them to shoot."

Card inhaled sharply. "Lance."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "It's a valuable life skill. And I think your rules are dumb."

Card threw up his hands. "Fine. Fine. We're talking about this after Xander's in bed."

Alex blinked. He was not expecting that. Belinda and Micheal stepped in front of him. Lance gestured forward. "C'mon, guys. We're heading back up."

The teachers were giving Lance dagger eyes. Alex was ninety percent sure Lance was doing this on purpose, but couldn't imagine why. Maybe he should ask Belinda? There had to be a reason for this. Lance closed the door behind them and seemed in no way concerned about his semi-official reprimand. "Eh, sit down, kid. I'll be fine."

Alex sat on a couch. "So, you had questions?"

Lance plopped down next to him. "Yep."

Lance fidgeted with tassels on a pillow. "Right, how far did your home life go to shit?"

Alex was hoping he wasn't going to ask that. "It wasn't that bad really. I just got left alone a lot. There were a few things like getting pushed a little too far in sports and, like, there was one time I didn't get consulted for a major medical thing."

Larry raised an eyebrow. "Aaand the whole being trained to murder people thing."

Alex blinked. "That, too."

Larry shrugged. "Moving on."

Belinda and Micheal were being remarkably impassive. "How old were you when you first killed someone?"

Alex let out a breath. Ten. Fourteen. Eighteen. "Ten."

Lance sucked in a breath. "Okay, why?"

Alex huffed. "He was trying to blow up my uncle and a town."

Lance shrugged. "Seems legit."

Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lance was now slowly laying a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay."

Alex met the man's gaze. "No, it's not."

Lance looked at him. For once the man was entirely serious. "But you will be."

Alex felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. "Last one. I promise."

Alex blinked. "What do you want to do with your life?"

The question made Alex feel incredibly young. "I don't know. I wanted to be a footballer but realized a bit ago it was out of reach. I think I want to be a surgeon, though."

Lance grinned. "Good enough for now. I'd be more alarmed if you had a solid answer."

Lance ruffled his hair. "Now, do you want boating, flying, or helicopter lessons?"

Alex had been taught how to drive small boats by Ian in the past life and he'd learned how to do larger ships when he was older and hunting down SCORPIA remnants. "Er, I already know how to do boats, they just assumed I didn't."

Lance grinned. "I'll just get you the test at some point."

Lance glanced at the paper. "So, flying or helicopter?"

Alex figured he could con Yassen into helicopter lessons later. "Flying, please."

Lance grinned. "Sounds good. We'll have an excuse to go out."

Alex frowned. "Shouldn't I do theory first?"

Micheal gave Lance a look. "Err. Yeah, but the class is going to be off-site and taught by me."

Lance looked cheerful. Alex wasn't going to bust through the paper-thin logic. It would be rude. "So, evenings will alternate flying lessons, acting, and knife lessons."

Belinda cut in. "I think it's Alex's bedtime."

It was barely nine. Alex took the hint. He could always talk with Jet or text - Oh, shit, he'd forgotten about Yassen. "Goodnight, you lot."

Alex went to his room and grabbed his stuff to get ready for bed.

John Crawley had a tension headache. They were fairly common these days. Ian seemed miserable, not that John could blame him. Then again, he didn't blame Mini for running off. As much as he loved the man, Jack was admittedly a better guardian. Ian huffed and began pacing in his office again. "Sorry, no changes, Ian. Interpol is refusing to remove him because he did have contact with a murdering terrorist."

Ian made a growling noise. "He didn't initiate it!"

Crawley sighed. "Interpol doesn't give a fuck. It's Interpol."

Ian huffed. "Those motherfucking asshats."

Crawley rubbed his face. "How's it going in family-land?"

Ian pulled down his shirt to reveal the marks from Patrick's strangling. "Buggering fuck, Ian! I can get a restraining order!"

Ian rolled his eyes. "Mossad will make us overturn it in a week."

John huffed. "Corrupt bastards, the lot of them."

Ian chuckled. "So are we. So are we."

Crawley tapped his pen against the desk. "Fair enough, but MI6 isn't usually that blatant."

Ian sighed. "Look, we need to get Alex back before we quibble over custody. He's disappeared since that dead drug dealer incident."

Crawley looked at him. "Gee, I wonder where he got the idea."

Ian sniffed. "Good riddance to bad tra- I mean, I'm shocked and horrified and completely sure it was all Antonio, not Alex."

Crawley threw up his hands. "Just get that shit straight, will you? Internal Affairs is probably going to come sniffing around."

Ian groaned. "I fucking hate them."

Crawley rolled his eyes. "The days of no government oversight are over, Ian."

Ian threw himself into Crawley's office "bed". "Gah. It was so much easier back in the Cold War, you know."

Crawley patted him on the head. "Yes, Ian. I'm the one who does all of your goddamn paperwork."

Ian batted his eyes and Crawley cursed himself for being weak. "And I love you for it."

Crawley now had smoldering brown eyes turned on him. Damn it, Ian, they were supposed to be working. "Ian."

The man upped the smolder, somehow. "John."

Crawley gave up on paperwork.

Brendan Chase was having fun. Alex Rider had made quite the splash. Watching him turn into a criminal would be gratifying. John would be horrified. Also, Nile had found out that Pierre finally gave the bank a forwarding address for his new South American residence. The CIA had been unexpected, but not necessarily out of line. Chase wondered what kind of long-term assignment they had for a French mercenary/sabotage specialist. Then again, it was the CIA in South America. Watching Pierre, Rider, Card, and Antonio have their little duel was going to be entertaining. He was practically floating on his way to Three's office. "So, did you hear about Alex Rider?"

Three was giving him a bemused look. "Indeed. One can't seem to avoid it these days, given that it's on the new and all."

Chase flopped down in a chair in front of his desk. "He's the snarkiest little shit I've ever met."

Three didn't react at all. "You'll be pleased to know Yassen's assessment was much the same."

Chase choked. "He fucking sassed Yassen?! Oh, no. I liked having dinner with him."

Three paused. "Yassen claims he's apprenticed to your new favorite operative."

Chase raised an eyebrow. "What does Nile have to do with this?"

Three gave Chase a look that suggested he might be a tad mentally deficient. "Pierre, Brendan, Pierre. Do try to keep up."

Chase gaped and then paused. "Huh, I can see that working. It looks a little scary."

Three gave him the shut up now look. "I believe he will be surrendered to Yassen and Nile for an apprenticeship around two years from now."

Chase nearly jumped out of his chair. "Wait, what?!"

He sat back down. "Dear God, what does Pierre owe Yassen?"

Three shut the file in front of him. "Most likely his life. Now, I do believe we have some planning to do."

Chase frowned. "I didn't think Yassen was the sharing type."

Three opened another file in front of him. "He's not, but most likely needs Nile and, more importantly, Nile's combat team to carry out the kidnapping."

Chase huffed. "Huh, we told him so. Looks like working alone came back to bite him in the ass."

Three paused. "My main concern here is not the kidnapping, nor the subterfuge."

Chase huffed. "I can't believe Nile lied to me. Yassen is a cracked little twerp, but I thought Nile had more-"

Three cut him off with a gesture. "Our main concern here is Zeljan."

Chase frowned. "What about him?"

Three gave him another one of the you're an idiot looks. "He won't let go of his little grudge against John Rider. Not for the most promising operative. Not to mention, the connection with Pierre. The only two men who have publicly outsmarted Zeljan. He won't stand for it."

Chase frowned. "So, what are we going to do? He won't let Yassen anywhere near him."

Three looked at Brendan. "I do believe that is Yassen and Alex's problem."

Brendan sighed. "So, Alex's problem."

Three smirked. "I'm sure they'll rise admirably to the task; besides, he did go too far with his candidates."

Brendan couldn't help but feel sorry for Alex. He had to slay a monster, after all.

Patrick Beckett was furious. Ian fucking lost Alex for a whole goddamned week before he found out. At least Marion had the sense to give Alex a mailing address and presumably he knew his uncle's. Had Alex taken a leave of his senses? Was Ian batshit crazy or just being his usual possessive self? Who the hell knew anymore? Patrick banged open the door to his house. Surprisingly, everyone was there, anxiously awaiting the news. He'd only expected Marion and, perhaps, Lily. Darian and Jason tended to be more solo, especially since Jason had completed his first assignment. "What's the news?"

Patrick blinked. "Not good."

Marion turned on the TV to the nightly news. Patrick saw his grandson's face. Darian blinked. "Why are they pushing this so hard? He's barely done anything."

Patrick frowned. Darian hadn't asked any questions in years. "Hunter and Ian's reputation precedes them. They'll want to imprison and control him before he truly becomes a force to be reckoned with."

Darian sighed. "What do you think is going to happen?"

Patrick grinned. "I think they're already too late. While he's at a significant disadvantage in a physical fight, he's already got powerful allies. Antonio, for instance, and whoever wiped our records in Japan and taught him instinctive firing."

Marion gaped. She thought she'd kept that under wraps. "I'm old, not blind, deaf, or stupid, Marion. I know he can shoot both ways. I know everything you tried to keep from Ian and I. Did you think I wouldn't have cameras everywhere during the family reunions?! I am Patrick Beckett, head of the family. I see all that goes on in my house. I know all that goes on in my house."

Marion blinked. Darian felt his lips twitch. "Sorry."

Patrick glared at her. "No, you are not, but if you do it again, you will be."

Marion sharply inhaled. The fear was written all over her face. "What are our next steps, father?"

Patrick sighed. "We will wait and see. War with the cartels and the CIA should be avoided, if possible. Though we have the troops, I would rather not start a five-way war if it is avoidable. Rest assured, we will not allow Alex to sacrifice himself for his goals, but I think he should have a chance to achieve them. For now, Mordant will keep an eye on him. I believe Lance is Ian's spy, but far flakier in the loyalty department."

Marion sniffed. "Why?"

Patrick sighed. "Well, for one, he hasn't extracted Alex. For another, the man has made it very clear that he has his unfulfilled aspirations in the CIA. Alex could very well help him fulfill them. For another, Alex's plan might be more morally palatable to him than Ian's version of child-raising."

Marion groaned. "I knew we should have gunned him down and taken Alex when we located them."

Patrick sighed. "Your willingness to sacrifice the adult of one of our lines is the reason you will never be a leader."

Marion huffed. "I knew Helen was your favorite, but Alex isn't ready. He doesn't know any of our rituals."

Patrick arched a brow. "You spotted him with a hellhound, didn't you?"

Marion sighed. "Yes, it's far too intelligent for even the rest of the genetically modified monstrosities of MI5 to compare."

Patrick glanced at the ritual items on the mantle. "A hellhound is a sign of favor. Did you get a hair from it?"

Marion huffed and pulled out a vial. "Of course."

Patrick sighed. "We can use that as a representation of the link to his chosen deity."

Marion raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't we need to know which one it was?"

Darian interjected. "Not with the hairs we don't. We just use the ritual and hope that his god decides rituals are important for Alex to know."

Marion frowned. "Better than nothing, I suppose. The worst the deity can do is deny our request, right?"

Patrick had already opened the old tome. "Yes, or decide to use the route we open for knowledge that they deem more important."

Marion got up. "What are we waiting for?"

Patrick held up his hand. "The new moon. Hellhound means he's aligned himself with the darker forces."

Marion pouted. "We have to wait for three weeks?!"

Patrick silenced her with a look. Darian sighed. "Well, it's a start."